Why am I Here?
by ObsessedXOX
Summary: One-Shot of Bella in New Moon.
1. Chapter 1

The girl walked into the small classroom completely unnoticed—the residents of Forks had long learned to ignore her. She didn't look right; her long brown hair was straggly—not from going unwashed but from the rain outside. Her hood remained unused. Her glazed over eyes were sunken into her chalky looking face. The invisible girl was silently screaming for help. No emotion whatsoever on her whole form added to the effect.

The empty woman—girl didn't seem like an appropriate labeling—slid into her seat, no one bothering to notice or speak to her. She sat deathly still, arms wrapped tightly around her perfectly organized books tightly; she didn't even notice the corner of her hard binger gouging into her palm. Her eyes, still very empty and desolate, watched the gray desk in front of her, even those still.

When the teacher—a man wearing a too small shirt and shorts—entered he scowled at the rowdy class and rapped his fist on his desk, calling for order. His sweaty brow smoothed out when the class sat quickly.

A girl with short blond hair sat down carefully next to the unnoticing woman like she was a plague—there was only so much time before it spread somehow to the shallow girl.

Still sweating profusely, the man started a boring lecture which most of the class blanked out immediately upon the start. A few started talking in hushed voices and another started doodling on his notebook.

The teacher was a history teacher, intently babbling about Christopher Columbus, barely keeping the facts straight as he told the class to get out their notes. Three people obeyed, one of which the distant woman, eyes still staring out at something unfathomable to the rest of the world.

And then, so very slowly that it was a very long movement, she raised her hand. Something sparked into her eyes, something small but hardly qualified for life.

The still sweating man was irritated. Why was the mute like child raising her hand? His paused mid lecture and reluctantly called on the slightly dazed looking girl—what on earth was wrong with her? Teenagers could be so dramatic sometimes.

"Why am I here?" Her voice was rough from lack of use and hardly above a whisper. The class silenced in complete shock.

The man was surprised just as much as the rest. He sputtered for a second, fumbling around for an answer. The girl waited impatiently, knowing, deep eyes making him uncomfortable. Finally, he cleared his throat, "You are here to learn,"

The woman's hand fell down slowly. "Oh," She breathed, still looking absolutely lost in herself.

Spit flying from his chubby mouth, the history teacher continued on, the class silently groaning, already forgetting the sudden out speaking of the usually silent freak.

No one noticed but the woman's brow was now quirked in thought, eyes distant from thought now instead of pure blanching.

Her hand rose again, still so slow.

The teacher ground his teeth, "Yes?"

"Why do I need to learn?"

The man could answer this question easier; teachers drilled students on this daily. It was their job, after all. "So you can get a good job; to start a chosen profession; to start a life of your own."

"Oh," was again her only response. Her eyes were changing from blank curiosity to a twisted, burning pain.

The man continued, ignoring the completely off subject question. The rest of the class followed suit.

This time young woman didn't even bother to raise her hand. "But what if we don't have a life to live?" She blurted, voice strangled. The words were coming up from her throat without her permission, almost burning their way out until her lips parted.

He was now fuming, face flustered. Why couldn't this ignorant child be quiet and just keep her pointless comments to herself? "Everyone has a life! Everyone has someone!" He chided a bit too loudly to be talking to someone only a few feet away.

He turned to the chalk board and started to scribble something away.

Images of the woman's father—smiles and curly thinning hair—flashed through her mind; her mother, too, laugh carefree and eyes sparkling. Yes, they mattered to her, definitely, but they were nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to—

The woman was suddenly a very hurt child and bowed her head to her desk and sobbed. Isabella Swan had no one.

Someone laughed softly at something their partner had said; the teacher rambled on; the rain battered at the window, dark clouds thundering loudly over head. There was a loud pop as someone popped their gum.


	2. Chapter 2

She had never looked; her promise to her brother was still standing no matter how much she hated herself for keeping it. It had still come to her, though. Her body had still cringed and then stiffened; face slipping into a blank mask—she still found her lost sister.

The world around her rippled, twisted, and then cleared into a different scene then in reality. She saw her beloved sister and best friend, head down, scraggly brown hair falling around the desk that she was silently shaking on.

The woman—Alice—wanted to scream out, to call out to her best friend, to find some way to comfort her in her pain, but she couldn't, body mute and frozen in her. She could only watch further.

Isabella's shoulders shook, trembled, with loud wrenching sobs in the middle of the class. To the vampire's complete fury and horror, the class continued, the shallow girl leaning away from Alice's sister. How could they do that!? Why wouldn't they help her? At least ask what was wrong?  
Someone popped their gum loudly.

The heartfelt pain for the used to be little sister was crippling enough to almost pull her out of the vision. Almost. She wished it would.

After les then a second, the withered shoulders of the woman sat up in the realistic vision, face blank, eyes—so deeply set!—rimmed with a bright red. Her gray, unhealthy looking skin was glistening with tears.

They didn't stop, the tears. They continued thickly but Ms. Swan was now quiet, eyes finally gone of the twisted, anguished pain that made her look like she was being burned. The tears still fell, nevertheless.

Time was strange in the young woman's visions, and it jumped, morphing, never giving her a chance to return to reality, to try and fend off the painful sights, into a large hallway that she recognized with stinging familiarity.

Everyone swarmed everywhere, moving with quick buzzing movements. People laughed; people skipped around, messing with their friends; people held hands, and giggled to one another. Isabella did not. She stood stone still in the middle, unmoving in the sea of people. Like an invisible shield around her, no one approached her, a wide two feet free of the jostling children.

Mary Alice wanted this vision to stop more fervently then she could ever remember—even the time when young Isabella had almost been killed by a deranged tracker. And she knew exactly why, too. Because with this pain, this living hell Mrs. Whitlock was dragging the lost human through, was her families fault, her fault; and it was supposed to last forever in Isabella's life.

Mrs. Mary Alice's true vision, the one where she could pick out the smallest specks, was coming back, and her sister was fading, still standing, so lost, in the over packed hallway. Warm, strong arms encircled her, holding up her now shaking frame.

Alice dug her head into Jasper Whitlock's shoulder, sobbing dryly into her only, her last, support. "So lost," she moaned. "She'll never find herself."

The man, her husband, was scared, honestly. There was a tremendous amount of guilt and anguish rolling off his beloved wife; his waves a peace and calm were bounding off, unnoticed to her with the intensity of her emotions.

His own grating guilt and pain was only adding on to each of another—their emotions were one.

The vampires cradled each other while they had no option but to mourn the loss of their brother and sister—for they certainly had lost them. The first, the brother, had departed quickly upon the leaving of the small town of Forks. He had demanded the small black haired woman's oath in not watching his love, made her swear to never look in a future that he would no longer effect.

What a fool he had been! He was still, would always, effect the young human's life. One can't reverse the irreversible. Yet he was so persistent in his pointless cause—all he'd managed was to rip up every heart in the family—including his and his lover's—and run away into some damned corner of the world.

How he could do it, how he could separate himself from his very need in life, was unfathomable to his brother, Mr. Hale.

The Cullen family was of no more. They hardly used their previous last names anymore; it seemed pointless. If they were going to break apart wouldn't their last names, their last weld to one another, change also?

The small woman in the former general's arms twisted after an unaccountable amount of silence. Her gold eyes flashed and Jasper Whitlock savored the look—it had so long since he'd seen anything there but pain and emptiness—before turning wary. He knew his wife long enough to know it meant no good.

"I must find her," she stated matter of fact like. Her tinkling bell like voice was strong yet still held the slightest note of pleading. She would do anything now to fine her beloved sister and drag her brother home.

Jasper wanted to argue but it was the note, the desperate plea in her voice, the broke him before he could argue. To have her beg of something of him much as this was torture to the scared man's heart and ears. "We must find them," he corrected gently.

They would find Edward Cullen if it meant combing through the whole world and drag him back to the little inconsequential town of Forks to the little inconsequential Isabella Swan that was the bindings of their family


	3. Chapter 3

_"Edward, you...don't be silly….let me have…get away from…you know better…ouch!...not you're…Alice would have…my foot…love you ,still..._" The low, beautiful voice, the sound of music to the curled up man, faded in and out; each syllable, each sound, every word, ripped and snapped at the broken vampire's heart.

The second the voice, the sweet lullaby, was gone, the immortal howled. His indestructible hands clawed at the floor until there was a gaping hole in the attic he was in. Just like his heart; both had lost the main purpose of them. What good were they now?

Snarling, enraged by the pointless connection, the Mr. Mason leapt through the ravaged, gaping hole. He landed with a booming impact, his rock hard feet making a neat imprint on the wood floor. Someone screamed. His thirst ripped up the inside of his throat as a woman and her small, screaming child fled the room, praying in mumbled Spanish.

The deranged brother snarled, wanting the voice back that he needed to simply live. "Come back, Bella!" He roared, bashing his fist through something that shattered around him; he didn't feel any of it. His foot kicked a small chair that sat in the middle of the tattered room. It went spiraling through a window and into the dark street—it must've been night, some small, very unstable part of the broken man's mind recognized.

The lanky, bronze-haired man ripped his hand through the thin dry wall and ripped out a old, rusted pipe; his arm whipped out and the pole vibrated loudly as it stuck into another mirror. This time, only the bottom half of the mirror shatter; the top half cracked but remained in the frame.

Black eyes bright, chest moving quickly, the once-lover stepped forward slowly—even for human eyes—and rose his hand ever so little, enough to meet the warm mirror's broken surface.

"_…I decided…doesn't matter…don't care…_" Big, brown doe eyes swam across the apparent youth's eyes. He could no longer see his own twisted, lined features in the mirror, but much, much more angelic eyes, hair, lips—everything. He saw Her smile, the way her eyes glowed whenever She was around Edward Anthony Mason.

Fingers trembling—whole body trembling—Edward lifted his fingers to brush across her cheek. "Bella," He whimpered, head turned slightly to the side, as if maybe he could see her better, "I'm—" His voice cracked and his eyes prickled fervently, "—I'm _so, so_ sorry," He tried to press his fingers to her hair, to feel it maybe, but it didn't feel right; no delicious smell or warmth vibrated from it.

Anger flashed through him.

The woman only stood, smiling, mouthing words now but no sound coming. The vampire wanted to hear her words! Why wouldn't she talk to him?! Frustration quickly blasted through the man. "Talk to me, please."

No apparent response, only frequent smiles and her body vibrated, like she might've been laughing.

"T_alk to me!_" He screamed, inches away from the mirror, trying to get a response out of his imagination. His breathing was ragged again, coming in quick, panting movements. "…please…" He moaned, and, unable to maintain his weight from the immensity of his pain, fell to his knees. His head rested on the shattered remnants of the glass; he could only see the knees of his beloved.

His mind was trembling with the speed at which it worked. This man—however inhuman he might've been—needed that woman, needed her touch, her laugh, her smell, her trustworthiness, her warmth. How was Edward expected to survive without life? Because she was his essence of life.

Edward Anthony Mason Cullen would be giving in, of course, if he allowed his heart his deepest, darkest wish, but he couldn't do this anymore. He just couldn't continue without Isabella Swan in his life, his eternity.

He didn't realize he was doing it before it was too late. He rose to his feet. To his grief, the girl was gone from the mirror, yet her laughter was echoing in his mind. He smiled grimly, enjoying it a second before blurring out the door and into the dark, floating through the shadows in quick, lethal movements. He body was more eager than anything else he'd ever felt before. His mind was suddenly rejoicing at what he knew he was doing: he was going to beg. He'd beg her to come back, to love him again, to talk to him, to let him drink in her glorious voice, and let him feel her warmth—and even if Ms. Swan refused, he'd continue to beg for her love as long as there was no other already there.

Mr. Edward wasn't sure where he was or what the date was or what town he was residing in, but he would, forever more of eternity, hate it for once sol reason: his phone rang in that town.

He skidded to a stop on an empty street, glancing agitatedly down at his phone as he yanked it out. It was probably Alice, ready to gloat—

—Rosalie's name flashed atop his sleek, black phone. For some reason, Mr. Cullen's stomach plummeted into the depths of him and his heart ached uncontrollably.

He flipped it open anyways. "Hello?"


End file.
